


Shared Pastries and Whispered Confessions

by AcornScorn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6234994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcornScorn/pseuds/AcornScorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamamoto takes another bite and then holds out the pastry. It takes Fukunaga a delayed second before he realizes. Oh. </p>
<p>“Yeah, take it,” Yamamoto urges, and he doesn’t need to say it twice. It’s safely in Fukunaga’s hands in a second, and surprisingly, Yamamoto slides his arm over his shoulder again. After being exposed to the cold for so long (not long at all), Fukunaga slides closer almost by instinct, and he’s glad Yamamoto doesn’t point it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shared Pastries and Whispered Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> This was my rare pair exchange fic for Anfu ! I strayed off the prompt a little at first but when I saw you liked Fukutora I was .. really excited bc honestly. me too. anyways! Sorry it was a lil' late ! I had a smaller idea but then I kept adding until it turned into this, so I hope you like the end result more ! !

Fukunaga bites into the hot pastry, mouth popping open to release the warm steam. Practice on Mondays ends with the whole team going out for sweets they get from the bakery down the road, and on days when the cold clings to his hands and face, he’s glad for it. Fukunaga minds the cold more than most people on his team--Lev claims that it’s his Russian blood, Kenma is often bundled even on warm days, and Yaku doesn’t seem to be bothered, either. Fukunaga only clutches his dessert tighter, hoping some of the heat from it transfers to his fingers long enough for them to stop aching with cold. 

 

“Fukunaga-kun, what’s wrong? You look paler than usual. Are you sick?”

 

Yaku never misses anything, Fukunaga notes. He sniffles but shakes his head once. Yaku sighs, unsatisfied but unwilling to push it, especially after Lev drags him down the street to look at something in a window. “You sure?” Kai asks, and Fukunaga nods again. He doesn’t need anyone to worry over him--in fact, he’s not sure he even wants it. Being invisible is fine with him.

 

As Shibayama and Inuoka race past him to see who can reach their house first, Fukunaga slows down enough to finish eating his pastry. He’s only sad about it because now it’s obvious that it’s  _ really  _ cold outside, and yeah, maybe he should have told Yaku he might get sick if he doesn’t get home fast enough. But hanging with the team is fine--fun, even--and he doesn’t want to miss out on any of it. 

 

The wind stirs the leaves on the sidewalk and Fukunaga sneezes. He left his volleyball jacket in his school locker, of all places, so there’s no chance of him being able to go and get it now--

 

“Bless ya!” A hand claps onto his shoulder and Fukunaga stiffens, turning to stare at whoever has decided to scare him. But it’s only Yamamoto, and Yamamoto doesn’t try to scare Fukunaga. Until now, maybe. But then his words really register and Fukunaga nods, hoping it’s enough to deter his friend. 

 

“What, no ‘thank you’?” Yamamoto teases. Despite his volume, he never tries to make Fukunaga talk when he doesn’t have to. But Fukunaga wants to, so he looks away, unable to say the words while looking someone in the face.

 

“…thank you.”

 

When he looks back, Yamamoto has stopped walking and is gaping at him. Flushing again, Fukunaga tilts his head at the rest of the group and takes a hesitant step back towards him. Yamamoto finally seems to snap back to normal, a dazed grin lighting his entire face. 

 

“You always take me by surprise!” he says, hurrying close enough to wrap an arm over Fukunaga’s shoulder. It’s warm,  _ really  _ warm, and Fukunaga leans into it without thinking. Again he looks away, too scared to even begin to think about what sort of expression Yamamoto has, but then he feels a tug and Yamamoto is even closer. “Where’s your jacket? I can’t believe you still wanted to come with us even after forgetting it!”

 

Fukunaga can hardly believe it, either. Still, Yamamoto doesn’t seem to have a problem with Fukunaga leaning into him, so he decides maybe it’s not so bad. He shrugs instead and Yamamoto laughs again. 

 

Yaku turns around, shaking his head, “You better not be annoying Fukunaga,” he warns, but his tone holds no bite. Even Kuroo turns around to see, and Fukunaga ignores the way his smile turns a little sly, as if he knows something Fukunaga himself doesn’t. He’s not sure he wants to think about it.

Before long, Kai turns to his own road with Yaku following to study for a test. Lev has already left, and even Kuroo and Kenma are waving as they head down their neighborhood road together. He hears a cough from beside him and turns quickly, wondering if maybe Yamamoto is getting sick. But he looks fine, if not a little flushed. Fukunaga’s stomach growls at the sight of his remaining snack, and Yamamoto laughs, pulling his arm away. Fukunaga tries not to be disappointed, but it’s hard when the cold wind settles on his neck and side once more. Yamamoto takes another bite and then holds out the pastry. It takes Fukunaga a delayed second before he realizes.  _ Oh _ . 

 

“Yeah, take it,” Yamamoto urges, and he doesn’t need to say it twice. It’s safely in Fukunaga’s hands in a second, and surprisingly, Yamamoto slides his arm over his shoulder again. After being exposed to the cold for so long (not long at all), Fukunaga slides closer almost by instinct, and he’s glad Yamamoto doesn’t point it out. 

 

While they walk, Fukunaga taking his time in eating the remaining pastry, Yamamoto talks about his new lowest grade, how he’s learning to spike even more accurately than before, about how annoying Lev is trying to take his spot. And about the girl he’s had an eye on. As much as Fukunaga dislikes that, it’s hard not to listen, especially with Yamamoto asking him questions to make sure he’s paying attention. 

 

“How about you, Fuku-chan?” Yamamoto suddenly asks. He turns, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Yamamoto grins and with the hand already around Fukunaga, reaches up and ruffles his hair. “Any girls, I mean!” 

 

Fukunaga shakes his head quickly. And then, thinking better of it, speaks up again, “No girls. Never.”

 

Yamamoto grins, “But there is someone?”

 

And Fukunaga nods. He tells himself that it was an idiot move, that Kuroo or Kai might laugh about it if they knew just what it really meant. But it’s just him and Yamamoto. There’s nobody else around that would mock him for a crush, if that’s what this was.

 

Yamamoto’s hand slips off his shoulder. Fukunaga bites back a plea as a cold gust of wind pelts him in the face, more noticeable now that his only source of heat is gone. 

 

“A lucky guy,” Yamamoto says then, voice gone quiet. Fukunaga shrugs, drawing his shoulders up higher and crossing his arms over his chest to try and shield himself from the cold. It helps, but it doesn’t compare to Yamamoto’s own body heat or the smell of his cologne. It takes him another second to realize that Yamamoto has stopped walking, and Fukunaga knows what he’s about to say but he’s confused because it’s so sudden. So early. 

 

“I passed my street a while back, Fukunaga. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And he turns. Fukunaga’s own street isn’t far away by now, but thinking of leaving like this, blunt and sharp, makes him feel very scared. He scrambles to think of something, anything to say.

 

“B-bye.”

 

Yamamoto turns his head at that, mouth falling open for just a second before he closes it to respond. “Bye,” he says. 

 

Fukunaga squeezes his hands together. “Good night?” He tries hopefully. 

 

This time, Yamamoto  _ does  _ smile. “Good night.”

While Fukunaga speedwalks home, he fancies the idea that something  _ big _ has just happened. He just doesn’t want to admit what he hopes it could be. 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

The next day he waits at the corner of Yamamoto’s house on the way to morning practice. Yamamoto doesn’t notice him until he’s only a few feet away, and the way his eyes widen almost comically makes Fukunaga smile. 

 

“Morning, Fukunaga,” Yamamoto says, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling to a stop.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Yamamoto grins again and they begin the walk to the gym. All throughout practice, Fukunaga watches him, waiting for a sign of anything different. But if anything is, he doesn’t notice it. Kuroo chides him for not paying attention, and Yamamoto laughs and pats his back. 

 

But it’s just like every other day. Fukunaga’s not sure when he had started to hope, but he’s sure this is when he starts to lose it. 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

Today Fukunaga has his jacket, hands jammed in his pockets and footsteps soft and shuffling. He’s eaten his pastry already, since there’s no reason to hold onto it, and though he’s still hungry his thoughts alone are keeping him occupied. Yamamoto has gone on ahead to talk to Inuoka and Shibayama before they leave, and even with the distance Fukunaga is glad to see him tilting his head back and roaring with laughter. 

 

It’s normal, Fukunaga thinks to himself. Normal is good.

 

Normal is  _ lonely _ . 

 

“We’re going another way home,” Kuroo says, and Kenma dips his head as they turn towards the game store down a road to the right. Inuoka, Shibayama, and Lev all go down their road, and even Kai and Yaku part their separate ways. Fukunaga watches Yamamoto as he stops walking, but as soon as Fukunaga reaches him he moves to match their pace.

 

“You look sad,” Yamamoto declares after a minute of silence. Fukunaga looks over, and their eyes meet. He ignores the jump in his heart and looks back down at the ground, shrugging. Yamamoto stretches his arms out in front of him before he crosses them behind his head. “Sorry about yesterday. We left off weird, didn’t we?”

 

Fukunaga nods a little too fast. Yamamoto doesn’t point it out.

 

“It was my fault.”

 

Fukunaga stops walking to look at him instead. “N-no,” he says, clearing his throat to try again. “I said it-that-”

 

“I didn’t know you had a crush,” Yamamoto says instead, abruptly. His face is definitely pink, but Fukunaga doesn’t know what to chalk it up to. 

 

He takes in another breath before responding. “I do.”

 

Yamamoto runs a hand over his mohawk, and if Fukunaga was really willing to take a stab in the dark, he’d say it was almost something like a nervous gesture. 

 

“I asked that girl out,” Yamamoto says. Fukunaga waits for a continuation. “She said no.”

  
  


He makes a small noise of dismay, if only to show that he actually cares. That girl didn’t matter, though. He’s glad she didn’t know better, didn’t know how nice Yamamoto could be--

 

Yamamoto tilts his head to the side, and it takes a while for Fukunaga to realize he had asked a question. By then Yamamoto is smiling again and repeats himself.

 

“What about you? Do you have plans of confessing?”

 

Fukunaga doesn’t respond for a long minute. After all, what is he supposed to say? Of course he has plans, but can he really say it out loud? He settles on a weak shrug. Yamamoto’s smile looks a lot stiffer than before. He begins to shake his head, but then it feels like a lie. He wants to confess. 

 

“You don’t?” Yamamoto asks at last. 

 

His voice comes out softer than ever. “I do.”

 

And of course it’s a bad idea to watch Yamamoto for his reaction, but Fukunaga can’t help it. He can’t help watching him  _ because _ it’s him. Now, though, his eyebrows rise and then he looks down, pushing at something with his foot. “When?”

 

Now. Fukunaga wants to tell him  _ now _ , and there’s nothing stopping him, and Yamamoto is waiting.

 

“Now,” he says, slowly, and the way Yamamoto’s head jerks up makes his heart thud almost painfully in his chest. 

 

“Now,” Yamamoto says. “Like this second now?”

 

Fukunaga nods. “This second,” he repeats. “Now.”

 

And they stand in silence for another minute. Yamamoto’s still waiting, bright-eyed and shocked, probably, and though Fukunaga can’t tell what kind of reaction that is, it’s better than being rejected from the start. Fukunaga’s mouth opens and closes, empty silence filling the air, but then Yamamoto begins to  _ laugh _ . 

 

“You-did you-was this even planned out?” he wheezes, still watching Fukunaga despite the amused tears in his eyes. Fukunaga’s smiling too, because it’s hard not to, and he shakes his head quickly. It makes Yamamoto laugh even louder, and even though they could get in trouble for making so much noise he wants to keep watching Yamamoto lose his head over the fact that Fukunaga dove into something without thought. He begins to laugh too, a quiet, breathy chuckle that doesn’t nearly compare to Yamamoto’s own volume. When they finally quit laughing, Yamamoto has calmed down and Fukunaga feels calm enough to talk.

 

“I like you,” he says quickly, before the more rational part of his brain can shut him up for good. Yamamoto’s grin disappears for a second as he takes a breath, and it comes back in the form of a gentle smile. 

 

“You do?” Yamamoto asks, and Fukunaga nods in earnest. 

 

“For a while,” he says, voice coming out louder now that he’s more sure of what’s happening. 

 

Yamamoto doesn’t move for a long moment, but then he lets out a breathless laugh and reaches over to pull Fukunaga towards him into a hug. Stiffening in surprise, Fukunaga can only squeeze one arm free to wrap around Yamamoto’s back in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. 

 

“I like you too, Fuku-chan,” Yamamoto says after a minute. “A lot.”

 

It’s still a little cramped, but Fukunaga doesn’t care. For the first time in a while, he’s just really, really happy. 


End file.
